The Truth
by OriginalSharkBiteGal
Summary: Is Molly ready to confess her dark secret to Mr. Pickles?


Molly laid on her bed, sulking. After a trip up to the old attic, she found something she had never wanted to see again. A compilation of all her ex-husband's old love letters he had written for her when they had first met. She made the mistake of reading them and was now in a terrible state of grief. She usually wasn't like this, she was usually the type of person to shrug things off and never hold a grudge, but what happened between her husband and her was so heartbreaking that she couldn't help but mourn their relationship. She remembered it all in an instant.

A trip to a town known as Mira for a family funeral resulted in their meeting. Phineas Mardling was his name. He was a short man with slicked back black hair and a mustache to match. He was obviously from an upperclass home, judging by the fancy clothes he wore. He was a charming fellow, and being the hopeless, flirty, romantic she was, Molly fell for every trick he played. It started with simple things like hand kisses and kind compliments, and quickly escalated into love letters and a marriage proposal.

She thought that was what she wanted, she thought she would be happy, but only a week after their wedding things starting becoming odd. He was barely around, and when he was he wasn't the same man she knew him to be. Her only company anymore was the maid, Millicent. While she was wonderful company and a great housekeeper, she was also old and couldn't hear very well. Molly made do with the life she had, and was ready to stick by the man she loved, even if he was never home.

Two painful years later, he arrived home with a mystery woman and told Molly she was old hat and needed to leave immediately. She put up a fight of course, but it was pointless. She finally saw him for the greedy, sexist, pig he was. She bid her goodbye to Millicent and went on her way back to Cheesebridge.

Upon arriving, she explained all the agonizing nights and days to her father who simply nodded and held his bearded chin in his hands while he listened. Ernest only wanted what was best for Molly, and right away he knew that if she wanted to get back on her feet in a town like Cheesebridge, she couldn't tell anyone what had really happened between her and Phineas. Together they made up the lie that Phineas died in a fire and having nowhere else to go, Molly was forced to move back to the town she grew up in and live with her father. It was a simple lie, and no evidence proved her wrong.

Keeping the lie alive was easy. No one questioned it, they simply pitied with the poor woman. Deep down she felt very guilty about it though. She felt the most guilty when she was lying to Mr. Pickles though. She loved him more than words could say, and for six years now she had kept the charade going, but she wasn't sure how long she would last. What if he eventually confessed his feelings to her? What if they got married? She would have to tell him eventually. She couldn't take that kind of lie to the grave with her, it just wasn't something she could or would do.

As she lied on her bed, she heard a knock on her door. "Molly, dear? You in there?" her father asked from behind the door.

She sighed, "Yes, i'm here father." she got up, and fixed her dress and hair a tad.

"That Pickle boy is here for your weekly tea." he informed her. Molly's head perked up immediately at the mention of Mr. Pickles. Amidst all her sulking she forgot about Tuesday Tea! She quickly finished fixing herself up and ran out the door right past her father. She flew down the stairs and into the living room where Mr. Pickles was waiting on the chaise lounge. He stood up at the sight of her and greeted, "Oh, hello Ms.-"

"I'm so sorry i'm late! How am I late in my own house? I don't usually forget about Tuesday Tea, but i've been having sort of a rough day and- Oh my goodness I didn't even make any tea! I'll be right back!" the words left her mouth faster than her brain could process them. She then flew right to the kitchen and put a kettle on the stove for tea.

She began to run back out to the living room, but halfway there she bumped into Mr. Pickles. They both shrieked as they ran into each other. "Ms. Molly are you alright?" he asked with concern, "You act as if you've seen a ghost."

The lady turned dramatically, placing the back of her hand to her forehead. "Only a ghost of my past!"

Mr. Pickles paused as he waited for her to go on, but she didn't. "Um… Alright then." He placed a hand on her back, "Perhaps we should sit down."

The kettle whistled, and Molly began pushing Mr. Pickles back into the living room. "Not without tea! It's Tuesday Tea after all! You go sit and i'll be right back!" She ran back towards the kitchen and carefully poured the hot water into a teapot. She then placed the pot on a tray with matching spoons, cups, and saucers and marched it out to where her close friend was sitting.

As she placed the tray on the coffee table, Mr. Pickles couldn't help but pipe up again, "Ms. Molly, forgive me for saying so, but you're acting a little… Squirrely." The quicker she got the more worried he became. "You mentioned earlier you were having a rough day…" he trailed off, hoping she would explain.

At the mention of her day, she locked eyes with the tea tray and shakily poured each of them a cup. Her movements were still sped up, but her words started to slow. "I- I don't recall saying that." she stuttered nervously, still not daring to look at him.

He tilted his head trying to make eye contact, but she continued to avoid it. He brought his head back up, "That's what I thought you said anyway. I mean you were talkin so fast I might have just heard you wrong." Molly gave an internal sigh of relief as he seemed to let it go. "Then again," he started up, "what did you mean when you said you saw a ghost of your past? I know I heard that one right, you weren't talking as fast that time."

Molly felt herself panicking, her corset felt tighter as her breathing became more shallow. Hoping he couldn't notice, she lifted her cup of tea to her lips to sip, but she was still shaking and the tea was spilling out of the cup quite a bit.

Mr. Pickles took the cup out of her hand and placed it back on the tray. "You can tell me, Molly. I don't like seein you like this, it's not like you." He took her hands in his. He usually wasn't this brave enough to get so personal, but for Molly's sake he would do anything.

The lady stopped shaking as he took her hand. She looked him in the eyes for the first time since he arrived at her house and he smiled at her. Her face flushed, and she used one hand to fan herself. "I think I need to lie down." Mr. Pickles was about to get up and prop up a pillow for her to lay on, but before he could, she kicked her feet up and onto his lap, laying her head on the pillows closer to her. He was startled by the action, and his cheeks turned a bit pink, but he didn't draw too much attention to it. "I-Is everything alright?" he asked once more, hoping this time she would actually start explaining.

Molly sighed, and left a moment of silence to think about what she wanted to say next. Perhaps now was a good time to let the cat out of the bag. "Can you keep a secret, Mr. Pickles?" she asked hopefully.

"I- I suppose. I mean I kept Mr. Snatcher's secret for about ten years, so I guess I could do it again." he shrugged. Molly took a deep breath before getting into the topic. How she would even begin to explain was beyond her. She worried that if she confessed he would think she was some kind of liar. She had a pure soul though, she could not tell a lie or keep a secret for too long. She was bound to crack eventually, so why not now?

"What if I was to tell you that I… I am not a widow." she began softly, "That my husband actually didn't die in a fire." she averted her gaze from the ceiling over to her friend. He looked a bit shaken, in fact she could feel him almost shaking under her legs. She took one more deep breath before finally confessing, "He kicked me out of the house and left me for another woman." she closed her eyes tightly, waiting for some kind of reaction from Mr. Pickles.

He let out a sigh of air, "Oh thank goodness." he said quickly. Molly's eyes popped open and she raised an eyebrow at him. "I thought you were gonna say you killed your husband." At this, the lady shot up on the couch and was back to sitting upright beside him. "WHAT?! Where would you get an idea like that?" she placed her hands on her hips.

Mr. Pickles hunched his shoulders, feeling a bit rude for what he blurted out. "Hamilton." he admitted shyly.

Molly's arms crossed and swung her legs back to the ground so she could sit upright. She turned away from the tall man. "Hamilton, pfft!" she rolled her eyes. "Hamilton doesn't know a thing about this whole mess, he's just a gossip!" The Red Hat's shoulders fell and he apologized, "Sorry…" he reverted back to the subject, "Why are you upset about your husband all a sudden?" a realization dawned on him, and he gulped before asking, "A- Are you still in love with him?"

Molly shuttered at the thought, "NO! After what he did to me? I can't love a man like that. I was just in the attic and I found some old things that made me think of him." She picked up her tea, now a bit cooled down, and sipped what was left in the cup.

"Like what?" he asked curiously. Molly paused before answering, she was a bit embarrassed that she even kept those love letters around. "Just… Love letters from when we were young."

Mr. Pickles froze. The man that once won Ms. Molly's heart wrote her love letters? Is that what he should be doing? How do you even write a love letter? Ms. Molly picked up again, "Really though, I shouldn't even have them, I hate looking at them. I should burn them in fact." After saying the thought out loud, she froze. "Yes… Yes, that- that's not a bad idea at all!" She quickly but gently set down her cup on the tea tray and marched upstairs to her room. She grabbed the letters out of the small wooden box on her vanity and marched straight back downstairs. She set down the box on the coffee table and got on her knees in front of the fire place across from the chaise lounge so she could light it.

As she did so, Mr. Pickles curiosity was getting the better of him. He carefully and quietly opened the small box and pulled out one envelope. He pulled out the first letter, which was written on paper that felt like an autumn leaf; It was very fragile and felt like it could easily tear or crunch. He read it to himself, surprised at how brilliant the writing was. Some parts made him roll his eyes, jealous he couldn't write that good. Other parts made him freeze, he couldn't believe how passionate and intimate this man was with Molly. He knew he could never write such things for her, and he shrunk in his seat as he finished the letter, signed "eternally and gratefully yours, Phineas."

Molly stood up and brushed the cinders from her hands. Mr. Pickles noticed and quickly shoved the letter back into its envelope. He was about to put it back in the box, but paused for a split second before shoving it into his jacket. The lady turned around and smiled at him, he smiled back feeling a bit guilty. She picked up the box and individually threw each one into the fresh flames. "Here is to leaving the past behind us and to someday, hopefully, finding new love." She tossed the box onto the chair and placed her hands on her hips, pleased with what she did.

Mr. Pickles stood up and moved to Molly's side, watching the paper crumple into ash. Suddenly he felt two arms wrap around him and a curly mess of hair hitting him in the face. He instinctively raised his arms, shocked by the action.

"Thank you." she said as she nuzzled her head into his shoulder.

Mr. Pickles' arms lowered and hugged her back. "Oh, you're welcome… What for?" She shrugged.

"I don't know. You're the first person i've confessed to though, besides my father." she paused. "I suppose I'm thanking you for not judging me. You're not judging me, are you?"

"No! No, of course not. I would never judge you. What's to judge? I should only judge your ex-husband for being such a brute. Pardon my language…" he hugged her a little tighter, as if he never wanted to let go. She giggled in his arms. "Not at all, he is a brute."

There hug lasted only a moment more, before Molly backed off. "Now how about some tea?" He nodded in agreement. They had much to discuss this Tuesday.


End file.
